"Does he seem moodier sometimes?" Scathach asked Billy, muttering out of the side of her mouth so that the Italian couldn't hear her.
Billy looked out the window where Machiavelli was running around with the Pup. The husky bounced around the boy, nipping occasionally at his ankles. "No, he's still my sweet boy." The American flinched a little when Machiavelli tumbled to the ground. He began to edge towards the door and the Italian immortal. "I think I'll just check on him."
Scatty stopped him with a sharp look of disbelief. "He's fine. But he definitely seems a little off sometimes. Doesn't he? Like this morning…" She looked at him expectantly.
"Alright, maybe sometimes he's a bit crankier than usual," Billy conceded quietly. He looked around the room before continuing. In a low voice, he mumbled in her ear. "I think he's starting to go through puberty."
"At twelve?" Scathach leaned back. "He's a bit of a late bloomer, isn't he?"
"No, I think he's within the average age range. Let's see, when I was a kid, I was always so small that it was hard to say when I went through puberty." Billy ruffled his hair. "Anyways, I was in no rush for him to become a teenager. I like him as a little boy. I like him as a man." He shook his head. "It's this in between time that I'm worried about."
They looked up as Nicholas came over. "What are you two talking about?" he asked curiously, his French accent creeping into his speech. Billy looked at Scatty and Scatty looked at him. The Shadow began to laugh.
"Puberty," Scathach said, grinning.
Nicholas wrinkled his nose slightly. "Ah," was all he said. "Poor Niccolò, I forgot he was going to have to go through with that again."
Billy looked thoughtful. "Everybody's experience with puberty is different. I wonder how Mac's going to experience it? You think he's going to be a nightmare?" He looked over at his companions. They shrugged and Billy went on. "I know it must have happened to you," he said, pointing to Nicholas, "But what about you?" He looked over at the Shadow.
Scathach looked surprised. "I don't really remember. I guess I must have..." She trailed off, frowning slightly. She cocked her head. "Maybe it was something I blocked out."
Nicholas raised his eyebrows. "I don't really remember either. It's been several centuries since then." He frowned slightly. "Niccolò doesn't seem too bad right now. I can't imagine that he would make things difficult on purpose." The Alchemyst stood up. "Anyway, I just came in to let you know that Perenelle and I are going out for dinner. We'll be back sometime later in the evening."
"Have fun," Billy said, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Behave," Scatty added. The two immortals went back to discussing Machiavelli but were cut off almost immediately by the Italian himself who made a sudden entrance.
"Billy!" Machiavelli came limping into the kitchen from the outside. The screen door shut with a clatter and he glanced at it. Both the immortals at the table stopped talking immediately.
Billy glanced over at Scatty with a guilty expression on his face that the Italian missed. He cast around for a quick change in topic. "Mac, we're in the middle of a conversation here," he reproached. His expression softened. "What's up?"
Machiavelli drew back, slightly hurt. "No, it's okay," he mumbled. "I'm just going to…" he fumbled with the words and headed back towards the door.
Scatty got up out of her chair. "Come back, kid. It's alright." She drew the Italian immortal back to the table and forced him into her chair. She wandered over the fridge from where she pulled a carton of raspberries out and began to pop them in her mouth.
"I'm sorry I interrupted," Machiavelli mumbled quietly, refusing to look Billy in the eye. He bit the inside of his lip, suddenly feeling the urge to cry. The sudden influx of emotions confused him. "I fell down." He pointed to his leg where a steady trickle of blood flowed from a long cut.
Billy inspected the gash in the Italian's leg. "That's a nasty cut, Mac," he said gently. He rose from his chair and looked for the first aid kid under the sink. "How'd you manage to get that?"
"I didn't do it on purpose," Machiavelli protested sharply. His voice rose slightly.
Billy straightened up with the kit in hand. "I know that, Mac," he said, coming back to sit by the Italian. "I just wondered how you got cut like this. It's fairly deep." He began to wipe away the blood with a damp towel, carefully cleaning.
Machiavelli wilted slightly, the stronger emotions falling away just as fast as they had come. "I fell out of the tree I was climbing. There was a stick coming out of the ground. I fell on it." Machiavelli winced as Billy applied the antiseptic to his scratch. "I guess I should have paid more attention to what I was doing."
Billy taped down some gauze to his leg and made a motion with his hand. "Kids get hurt all the time. I got some awful wounds growing up."
"Me, too," Scatty called from her place on the counter. She grinned at Machiavelli, but the Italian just stared at his feet. Billy and she exchanged worried looks when he made no response.
"Hey, Mac, I didn't mean to snap at you before," Billy said, touching the Italian's shoulder.
Machiavelli moved away from his touch, feeling a burning sensation forming in the back of his throat. "It's okay," he said, edging towards the door. "I'm okay. I'm just going to go out again I think," he said fumbling with the door handle. He pushed it open. "Bye!"
"What just happened?" Billy wondered out loud.
Scatty patted his shoulder. "Congrats. You're father to a preteen now."
The American slumped in his chair. "I want my baby back."